


The Guardian's Reprise

by Lady_Mischievous



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Alternate Universe, Amnesia, Character Development, Character Study, Developing Friendships, Gen, Multi, Starting Over, What-If
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-07-23 06:29:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20003830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Mischievous/pseuds/Lady_Mischievous
Summary: Free from obligations but a slave to his own guilt, Medivh’s newfound freedom was a cruel farce. For true freedom, Medivh needed to be dead. But make no mistake, freedom would be his. It was just going to take a little ‘bending of the rules’ and Medivh Aran had no trouble with playing dirty.





	1. The Dream Begins

**Author's Note:**

> This is a 'what if...?' scenario that I had been thinking about and wanting to write for a long time. There will be some alterations to events and personal takes to how certain things in Warcraft's world works but I hope that you will enjoy regardless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: Made a little change in this chapter thanks to inspiration from Kalla_Moonshado. >:3

What was freedom?

It should have been his. Medivh had no one to answer to anymore.  No council of Tirisfal, no kings, no duties, no social obligations that came with the noble part of his bloodline. No friends. No family. No laughter or music. No delicious meals from Cook. No scolding from Moroes for staying up till the crack of dawn. No more snark or banter with Lothar. No warm embraces from Llane. No Khadgar and his comforting company. Medivh was horribly alone and it was _maddening_.

Free from obligations but a slave to his own guilt. How long had Medivh hated his position as Guardian, desperately wishing for a life of his own? Now he had it, a 'parting gift' from his mother. It didn't take long to realize this newfound freedom was a cruel farce.

That fact weighed heavily on the shamed Guardian. Like being strapped to a boulder then tossed into the sea. It was all that he had now that Archimonde was banished and the third war was coming to a close. Medivh had done his part, surely. An act of redemption, an attempt to nudge the right people into making a better future for Azeroth. He did what he could...from the shadows.  Light knew that, save for Jaina and Thrall, had he presented himself in his true identity, he would have been brutally re-killed on the spot.

Not that it wouldn't have been deserved.

Medivh swallowed, his hand moved to his throat. His fingers traced over the jagged scar tissue that encircled his entire neck. Medivh _hated_ that scar. The sight of it in his reflection always made his stomach twist. A permanent reminder of his sins, of what needed to be done, and of who had to do it.

The failure Guardian sat alone in what was once the scullery of Karazhan’s tower. He had turned it into a makeshift living space. A butcher block and the countertops became a workspace for him to toil pointlessly to fill the time. He salvaged the most comfortable chair he could find. He set it up before a cooking fire that seconded as a fireplace.

This would have been much better and easier if he could reach his private study. Unfortunately, with Karazhan in such a state and barely any magic, all her shortcuts, and secret entrances were unusable. Normally, Medivh could use his own magic to get them working again but he was in no shape to perform such spellwork.

While his mother had resurrected him, healing was a tedious process. Medivh’s travels were enough to leave him winded. He could barely cast a fireball during the course of the war. Though Medivh was making a gradual recovery, it was going to be a long time before he’d be at full power.

In the meantime, he had to make do with what he had. What were once simple jaunts through his home were now excavations.  Medivh had to search Karazhan’s ruins for surviving alchemy equipment or tools that allowed him to tinker. The library was a wreck. The thought of how pale Khadgar would have looked at the sight of it brought a laugh out of Medivh. It was short-lived, devolving into a bitter, half-sob. After collecting what books he could and bringing them to his little hovel, he didn’t go back.

The tower was broken but far from dead. Karazhan slowly drew energies of Azeroth’s leylines into herself, storing it. She was sleeping, at least that was how Medivh saw it. Even with the barest hint of magic within her, Karazhan still managed to dream. The echoes that haunted Karazhan’s halls were weak. Faint ghosts of events past that would flicker in the corner of Medivh’s eye, disappearing when he looked. At times he could swear he hear music coming from his beloved theater. But the worst was when he'd hear disembodied voices of friends and loved ones from better days. Sounding almost as though they were calling him to join them.

Medivh couldn’t stay there. The guilt and loneliness were killing him. Like a slow, corrosive poison that ate away at him from the inside out. But this poison wasn’t only from the tower, oh no, it was in his _very being_. The dark legacy left behind by the ‘Corrupt Guardian’ and the scars on lives and the world itself made by his actions would always be there. No escape from the horrors and atrocities he committed thanks to the darkness that had been cultivated in him since his time in the womb.

No, there was no freedom with such things constantly haunting him. For true freedom, Medivh needed to be _dead_.

Perhaps it was a spark of madness that made the fallen Guardian’s eyes light up. A desperate idea had clicked in his head. Medivh hurried over to his makeshift worktable, grabbing up parchment, quill, and ink. He scratched away in the dim candlelight throughout the rest of the night. Filling his hours with outlining spells and a rough plan.

Freedom would be his. It was going to take a little ‘bending of the rules’ and Medivh Aran had no trouble with playing dirty.

-o-o-o-

Preparing the magic circle took longer than intended. But it was better to have it done right than risk magical malfunction. The last thing Karazhan needed was Medivh’s blood painting her walls.

The lines of the circle were intricately drawn in violet chalk. Runes and symbols were carefully scrawled out, needing to be clear and precise. Medivh had finished placing peridot stones on certain spots of the circle. Given his limited magic, he needed stones that were good for channeling energy.  A few relics from his treasury (which was still intact, to his surprise) would provide the extra boost of power that he needed to activate the spell. Medivh despised having to sacrifice such artifacts. But if his plan succeeded then it was worth the price.

Medivh looked over the entire setup. His heart thumped in his chest as his eyes scrutinized every inch he could see. He was fully aware of how simple mistakes, be it a mispronounced word or a sloppy rune could set off a disaster. With a soft sigh, Medivh gave a nod when he finally felt satisfied with what he saw.

The Guardian had dressed himself down in what modest clothing he could find. He still kept his tattered, patchwork cape and cowl. Hanging from his shoulder was a leather satchel that was enchanted to be larger on the inside. Perfect for carrying supplies though, for the time being, he only had essentials.

The only things he had on him that he considered valuable were a pair of rings, both set with a large gem on each. A ruby on his right hand and a sapphire on his left, they were the Aran family’s rings, his father’s rings. Both were enchanted to calm mind and spirit. He reasoned with himself that he’d need them but the truth was that Medivh didn’t have the heart to leave them behind.

The magus then drew in a breath through his nose and released it as a sigh to steel himself. “Okay, it’s time. Now or never, Medivh...”

Stepping into the center of the circle, Medivh sent out a small pulse of his power to activate it. A small wave in the form of a breeze blew over the circle before it responded with a faint glow. Medivh began to recite the spell that he had designed. The lines of the magic circle burned brighter like smoldering, violet coals. The artifacts Medivh had set up began to crack and crumble into arcane dust. Their energies were drawn into the peridot stones and then pulsed into the magic circle. Its lines burned bright as it crackled and sparked with arcane.

Medivh’s heart skipped a beat. He was a little surprised that it actually worked, a half-laugh escaped him. “Okay...didn’t blow up, that’s a good start.”

He then held his arms out and a small, violet light flickered into existence before him. Medivh watched it as it slowly drew something out from the magus. The more it took the light grew in size and brightness. Medivh bit his lower lip as he concentrated, feeling weaker by the second.

The faint sound of familiar voices filled his ears, growing louder. The first voice Medivh could clearly hear was that of his father, he called out him for his lessons. It surprised Medivh, making him falter for a second before he forced himself to continue. It was obvious Karazhan was playing against him now, not wanting to let the Magus go.

Medivh focused but the voices of long lost friends and loved one he filled his ears in a chorus of temptation. The boisterous Barnes beckoned him to come and watch a rehearsal for his latest play. Moroes' words were stern while mixed with concern. He urged Medivh to put his experiment away and come down to dinner. Attumen tried to coax him into going for a ride together in the woods.  His mother voiced her concerns from the short time they had together after she resurrected him. Medivh had to reason with himself that they were all just echoes of the past. That they were being re-purposed to convince him to stop.

He would not stop now, he _couldn't_ stop now. Medivh focused even harder on his spell but Karazhan wasn't done with him yet. Like the master himself, she also knew how to play dirty.

Flickering in the corner of his eye, Medivh could see the faint image of Lothar as a young man. It was from a time when his dear friend taught him how to use a sword. The magus’ throat felt tight, he swallowed in hopes of loosening it. He was then greeted by a clearer image of Llane, who held his arms out for a warm embrace. With a blink, Medivh’s eyes stung as they began to tear up. His hands trembled as his resolve threatened to crack.

The light had grown to the size of a cannonball. It’s shine dimmed as it began to solidify, taking the form of a violet, crystalline orb. It contained a large part of Medivh, parts of his memories, and his power. What of himself that remained in his body was enough to keep existing. Medivh could feel the last bits of his ‘self’ starting to slowly fade. Soon Medivh Aran would be gone and someone new would arise from the ashes.

“Medivh...?” said the voice of a young man. “What are you doing?”

Medivh blinked, his eyes then widened the moment he recognized that voice. His gaze slowly moved from the orb and locked onto the familiar form of Khadgar. The boy stood there, clearer than any of the other echoes Medivh had seen. It wasn't fair, it was _cruel_. While Khadgar appeared as ghostly as Lothar and Llane had, something about him looked so _real_. There was life in those beautiful, sky blue eyes as they looked over the scene before him.

Medivh’s heart jumped in his chest, the spellwork around him began to crackle and flicker. His resolve wavering at the sight of the beloved apprentice. “...Khadgar…?”

Khadgar looked at the orb. His eyes widened as though he realized what was happening before looking up at Medivh. Not through him, but right at him. How they shone with such familiar concern.

“Medivh, you have to stop!” Khadgar took a couple of steps towards him.  A violent crackle from the magic circle that surrounded Medivh forced the mageling to stop in his tracks. Khadgar locked eyes with him, a determination that Medivh admired burned in them. “You don’t have to do this." Khadgar reached out to him, offering his own hand like a lifeline. "Come on, come to me, please...”

Medivh looked at Khadgar’s outstretched hand. With each passing moment, it looked a little more solid, less and less like that of an echo. Oh, how Medivh wanted to take Khadgar’s hand, to hold it and feel its warmth. Dear light, what if this was a second chance?

But...it wasn’t. It couldn’t be.

Medivh wanted to believe that Khadgar was there. That he was safe and alive instead of dead and rotting on an alien world, so far from home. A horrible fate that the Magus had a hand in causing. It was no different than if he had killed Khadgar with his own two hands. With that awful thought, Medivh's composure finally crumbled. The tears that had been building up in the magus’ eyes finally leaked free. They trailed down his face as a sudden sob shook him.

“...I-I’m so sorry...I tried to fight it… Truly, I did…! I _never wanted_ to hurt you...” the words escaped Medivh before he could stop them. They were the words he desperately tried to say as he died, before Lothar decapitated him. Medivh’s heart ached. He knew it was only an illusion but he forced himself to say one last thing: “I’m sorry Khadgar, but this goodbye.”

Medivh closed his eyes tight as he lifted the crystal orb into the air. With all his anger and sorrow he sent it crashing into the ground. The orb shattered, sending large chunks of crystal across the room. The tower reacted immediately. Devouring the pieces of Medivh’s power and memories into herself. The magic circle erupted, the room quaked as a blinding bright flash exploded forth.

When the light died down, Medivh was gone. All that was left was a lonely tower in a lonely land, with only nightmares and memories as her companions.

-o-o-o-

It was the sound of birdsong and the gentle kiss of a warm breeze that slowly roused the magus awake. His clouded, emerald eyes dragged open and stared up at a sky that was lighting up with the light of dawn. Medivh’s head felt light and foggy, as though he were struggling against a desperate need to sleep. He didn’t have much time left.

“Hey!” called out a feminine voice. “Are you alright?!”

Medivh rolled onto his side and struggled to get up. He could hear hurried footsteps approaching. The feel of hands grabbing shoulders made him flinch.

“Mister, are you alright?”

Medivh looked up and found himself staring into the red-brown eyes of a young woman. She was young. Her dark hair cropped short, she sported black coveralls over a cream-colored shirt. “Wh-where am I…?”

The woman gave a confused blink before quirking a brow. “You’re in Northshire Abbey.”

It was pure irony. Medivh had spent a good-sized chunk of his life in that same abbey during his coma. To think his ‘new self’ was going to wake there as well. “...H-help me...please…!”

At that, the woman’s eyes grew wide, this stranger was hurt. She looked back over her shoulder and called out to a cleric that had been too busy gardening to notice them. “Hey, Neals! Get a medic, we got someone hurt here!”

The old cleric looked at her, his eyes grew wide before jumping with a start. Neals immediately dropped what he was doing before hurrying off to get help.

“Keep talking to them, Bel!” He called back to her while he ran. “Try to keep them conscious!”

“You hear that? You’re going to be fine...” Bel said, returning her attention to the fallen man.

She tried to sound confident though internally she was starting to panic. Bel had to keep the man awake but by looking at him she knew it wasn’t likely. The stranger looked exhausted, struggling to focus on her let alone stay awake.

“My name’s Beldilia Quill...” she said, trying to keep the conversation going, anything to keep the man conscious. “...What’s yours?”

Medivh frowned, his eyes drifted away from Bel as he tried to think. It was one detail he forgot to plan. Ironic, given how wrapped up he had been with the preparations of everything else. The magus’ last act would be to give his new self a name. He had to think fast, his consciousness was holding on by mere threads.

A loud ‘caw’ rang out from the distance. Medivh’s attention was drawn to a pair of large black birds that were playing in the distance. Crows? Ravens? He couldn’t even tell anymore but the corvids sparked an idea all the same.

“...Cor...ven…” Medivh’s voice croaked. He sucked in a breath as he forced himself to focus. “...Corven...Lotharios…”

“Corven…” Beldilia tested the name, finding it somewhat odd. “... _Lethar_ ios?”

“N-no...wait..! That’s not--”

Before Medivh could correct her, his eyes slipped closed as he finally succumbed to his own spell. His body felt heavy, as though he were sinking into the dark depths of the sea. Sinking down and down into the depths of deep unconsciousness.

And so, Medivh’s dream had begun...

**-End of Chapter 1-**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this chapter. Chapter 2 is already done but I'll try to post it after I get more done on or finish chapter 3. Comments and feedback are encouraged and really help me out, so please don't be shy. Thank you again and I'll see you next time!


	2. From Across the Stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special chapter. :D

Khadgar’s eyes snapped open. He felt his heart hammering hard in his ribcage, almost feeling as if it were ready to breakdown to a halt. With a blink and a breath, Khadgar tried to calm himself down. His hand moved to a sapphire pendant that hung from a chain around his neck. Warmth radiated from the stone, pulsing in tune with Khadgar’s heart as it slowed to a safer rhythm.

The need to rely on such a trinket to stay alive was frustrating but a fact of life Khadgar had to accept. His curse was a ‘parting gift’ Medivh bestowed upon him while in the throes of madness. Not only had it rapidly aged Khadgar, but it was also a continuous threat to his life. One day, the curse would claim him, that was for certain but the archmage couldn’t afford to die yet.

Not with _so many_ relying on him.

That thought alone was enough to make his stomach twist, making him feel ill. Everyone, be it in Honor Hold or Shattrath, looked up to him like he was a leader of wisdom and age. Granted, it was also Khadgar’s own fault, he did what he could to act the part so he would be taken seriously. He took what he observed from his elder mages and cobbled it all together into a mask to wear in public. He hated it. It was all a farce, his aged appearance and acting, hid the fact that he was only in his thirties.

Khadgar stared up at the ceiling of his room. Such thoughts would do him any good, they’d only serve to stress him out and give him a stomach ache. His mind was restless, it wouldn’t allow itself to go back to sleep easily. So Khadgar began to replay the strange dream he had.

-o-o-o-

At first, he had no idea where he was but it felt like there was an odd ‘tugging’ as though he was being drawn to somewhere. Everything was shrouded in darkness as though he were floating in the void. Slowly, walls and furniture materialized from the darkness, becoming a large room. Khadgar found himself looking at a mess of dust, cobwebs, and many bookshelves. Something about the state of the room made Khadgar bristle. He was surprised to feel a familiar irritation bubble up in his chest. It reminded him of whenever he found a mess in the library of Kar--

That was when the realization swept over Khadgar, he was in _Karazhan_. He recognized the shelves and book titles he memorized from _painstakingly_ organizing them. The state of everything made his hands clench and unclench as he fought the urge to start cleaning.

It hadn’t been the first time the archmage had dreamt of Karazhan and it wouldn’t be the last. The tower had been the first ‘true home’ he had in his life and to see it in such a state made his heartache. Khadgar didn’t have long to dwell on the state of his home as his ears picked up a jumbled mess of voices. It drew his attention to the other side of the room, where he saw some sort of ritual taking place.

The mage conducting it stood in the center of a large, meticulously crafted magic circle. Four artifacts that contained magical power were set at four points of the circle. He noticed how they were slowly crumbling away into glowing dust. Khadgar’s curiosity drew him in. Something about the spellcaster was _familiar,_ almost painfully so. It was enough to make Khadgar's gut twist as emotions began to build up within him.

Numerous phantasmal figures swirled around the mage. Some had their ethereal arms wrapped around him, one caressed the mage’s face as they whispered into his ears. They all seemed to go unseen as the mage concentrated on his spellwork. With each step closer to the ritual that strange familiarity made Khadgar’s gut twist. He could feel it deep within his bones, he knew some of those voices, he knew that magic, he _knew that mage_.

Khadgar opened his mouth to call out to him but his voice refused to work, getting stuck in his throat. When words failed him a rush of instinct and possessiveness washed over him like a tidal wave. Khadgar’s hand reached out as though to snatch the mage away from the specters that clung to him.

He wasn’t prepared for the sight of his own hand. Khadgar’s eyes locked onto it, his eyes widening in shock as his heart jumped. It wasn’t the hand of a fragile, old man. Gone were the liver spots and gnarled fingers, in their place was the hand of a healthy young man. Khadgar stared down at the both of them, flexing his fingers and marveled at the lack of pain from arthritis. Reaching up, Khadgar felt his face. Gone were the wrinkles and sagging skin that he’d see every time he’d look in a mirror.

The weight and strain that came with the curse were _gone_ , he was _free_.

Khadgar’s attention returned to the ritual, more specifically the mage performing it. At first glance, one would have mistaken him for a random spellcrafter. He looked different from the time Khadgar had known him. He looked younger and calmer but Khadgar still knew him. His heart ached as he could _feel_ it was him.

“Medivh…?” Khadgar’s own voice startled him, it matched the youth his body regained. There was so much he wanted to say to the beloved mage but his hungry curiosity demanded to be sated first. “What are you doing?”

Medivh looked back at him, his eyes went wide as his jaw fell slightly slack. Clearly, the Magus was just as dumbfounded as his former apprentice was. Perhaps it was a little mean but Khadgar couldn’t help the feeling of glee that bloomed in his chest. The look of awe on his face twisted into one of longing. Khadgar couldn’t help but savor it, the emotion on Medivh displayed was so honest and raw.

“...Khadgar…?” Medivh finally found his voice. The magic circle that surrounded him crackled and flickered at the loss of concentration.

The magic’s reaction was what finally drew Khadgar’s attention to the spellwork. His eyes scanned over the circle, noting how intricate yet rough it was. This spell was something, it was new and unrefined. Khadgar’s eyes then shifted and locked onto the glowing globe in Medivh’s hands. It shared the Magus’ presence as if it were a part of hi--

_“You have to stop him!”_ a voice rasped into Khadgar’s ear. If he didn’t know better, he would have sworn that it was Lothar’s. _“He’s trying to destroy himself!”_

Another voice whispered into his other ear, this time sounding like Moroes. _“Please Khadgar, try to calm him, the Master’s not in his right mind.”_

They weren’t alone, other voices swirled around Khadgar, pleading with him.

_“Med won’t listen to any of us!”_

_“The Magus can’t see us but he can see you.”_

_“Medivh might only listen if it’s_ **_you_** _, Khadgar.”_

Normally, Khadgar would have thought twice before trusting such disembodied voices. But the scene that was playing out before him spoke for itself. Khadgar could see the sorrow and loneliness in Medivh’s green eyes. He was hurting and desperate.

“Medivh, you have to stop!” Khadgar took a couple of steps closer, almost walking into the magic circle. The spell crackled, an invisible force pushed back against the mage refusing to allow him one more step. Khadgar felt possessiveness bubble up in his chest, damn that magic circle. He couldn’t be stopped now, not with him so close. “You don’t have to do this.”

Medivh stared back at Khadgar, he was hesitating, causing the spell to falter.

Khadgar took a chance and reached out a hand into the magic circle, holding it out to the beloved Magus. “Come on, come to me, please…”

A sharp tingling sensation filled his hand the moment he forced it head of himself. It was a similar sensation as when one’s hand fell asleep. The prickling and numbness traveled from his hand and up through his arm. Unshaken, Khadgar kept his gaze locked with Medivh’s willing the Magus to take his hand. His eyes held the unspoken promise that everything would be okay now.

Medivh stared at the offered hand, it looked like he would move to take it at any moment. Khadgar couldn’t help but smile, his heart feeling light and his head a little dizzy. If he had to best describe it, it was how he felt when he understood what his feelings for his mentor were. 

Khadgar knew it was childish to still feel for Medivh in such a way. For everything that happened to him, he had every right to hate the man. Khadgar gave himself time to be furious with Medivh but he could never hate him. 

Perhaps here and now he could tell him how he felt. Maybe this was a second chanc--

“...I-I’m so sorry...I tried to fight it… Truly, I did…!” Tears trailed down the Magus’ face, his body shook as a sob broke the last of his composure. “I _never wanted_ to hurt you...” 

They were words that Khadgar wanted to hear. Confirmation of beliefs that he held onto for years. He had told himself that he knew Medivh but a part of him always feared that he was lying to himself. Words that should have brought relief only caused Khadgar’s heart to sink like a stone.

“I’m sorry Khadgar, but this goodbye.”

Those words hit Khadgar like a hard punch to the gut. He tried to force himself forward, into the circle to get to Medivh. The spell pushed back, sending more of the strange, prickly numbness throughout his body. 

“Medivh! Stop!”

He saw Medivh raise the glowing globe he had been holding into the air and slam it into the ground. It shattered violently and a bright light erupted from within. Khadgar felt himself pushed back from the sheer force of the spell.

It was then that Khadgar woke up and found himself back in his bed. He raised a hand and looked it over. He knew what he would see, he felt the familiar weight of the curse pressing down on him again. Khadgar couldn’t help but wonder what that dream was. Wishful thinking? His desires? If so, then why had it come to such a painful end?

-o-o-o-

Life on Outland was far from a comfortable existence. The gravity was less than that of Azeroth’s, many people suffered from the effects of lower gravity on the body. Khadgar himself had to be mindful of his heart and muscle atrophy.

The destruction of Draenor forced surviving life to adapt and mutated in strange ways. They became more dangerous and even harder to eat. Their meat was tough and unpleasant to eat, lacking much in terms of flavor. The crumbled bits of land didn’t leave much for growing crops, many things had to be rationed. Much had to be given to those that could fight on the front lines against the Legion.

The odd dream forced up a number of such worries and memories. They clouded his mind, like sediment being stirred up from the bottom of a lake. The archmage sighed as he went on a walk in an attempt to clear his head. Khadgar found himself wandering down into the streets of Lower Shattrath. He preferred it there, far from the sounds of clashing swords as the Sha’Tar sparred.

Something bumping into the back of Khadgar’s legs sent him stumbling a couple of steps. Looking back, he saw a group of children run past, one calling out an apology as they went by. Khadgar watched them as he straightened himself out, part of him envied their youth and innocence. How he wished he could go back to such simpler times.

Many would agree that it was cruel to bring new life in Outland but it didn’t stop people from seeking comfort in each other. The children born on the broken world were blissfully unaware of just how much their parents struggled. Azeroth sounded like a fairytale, not only to the children but to many of the adults as well. A world abundant with safe food and water sounded like a fantasy. Proper housing, clothing and the mundane sounded like the most incredible of luxuries.

Of course, that _would_ be Khadgar’s luck. His attempt to calm his mind only made it worse, like stirring ink into a cup of tea. Maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea to go back to his quarters and rest his eyes.

Perhaps he’d have that dream again. If he did, he would try to change the outcome.

**-End of Chapter 2-**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and feedback are encouraged and really help me out, so please don't be shy. Thank you for reading! I'll see you next time!


	3. Corven Letharios, The Broken Magician

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus chapter! Since this was the original chapter 2 I planned to have before inspiration hit me. XD

The light of the sun peeked in from the corner of a window. With each minute, more sunlight poured into a modest room, bathing it in warm brightness. The light gleamed off of metalwork and tools that sat on a simple, oil-stained table. Books were stacked atop a small cabinet that was half opened with clothing and belongings toppled out onto the floor.

Light snoring was heard from a man who was tangled up in blankets on a bed in the corner of the room. The room brighter with sunlight, his face screwed into a frown before he cracked open one of his green eyes. He huffed out a small, annoyed sigh before curling up and pulling the covers over his head. Soon enough he was snoring again as he slipped back into sleep.

It didn’t last for long though.

The door to the room opened with a long, high pitched creak. A young woman with dark, pixie bobbed hair peeked inside. Her gaze was drawn to the large lump of blankets before she rolled her eyes and shook her head.

It had been over a month since Beldilia found Corven Letharios collapsed outside Northshire Abbey. His recovery had been a slow one. According to the healers, Corven’s body was already on the mend. Whatever caused his condition was a mystery that they couldn’t make heads or tails of. The answer was lost since all Corven had were the clothes on his back, an enchanted satchel, and his name. He had no memory of where he was from or how he got into such a condition. Still, ill or not, idle hands were a demon’s tools, especially if said hands belonged to a mage.

When Corven was well enough, the Abbey wasted no time in putting him to work. All the while _gently_ trying to nudge him towards the beliefs of the light. Alas, Corven was strictly a ‘man of science’. His strengths were in tinkering and alchemy, his talents still proved to be useful the Abbey. At that moment, it was Beldilia that needed the lazy mage’s help.

“Of course you’d still be asleep…” Bel sighed while stepping into the room and making her way towards the bed. “Corven, come on, it’s time to get up.”

The blankets were pulled closer as Corven curled up even tighter. He wasn’t about to make things easy for her. He was nudged and shook but he stayed put. Finally, his voice croaked: “...Go away…”

“Nope, you’re getting up _now_. It’s not my fault you pulled another all-nighter.”

“Oh for Light’s sake, Beldilia!” Corven pulled the blanket away from his face and glared up at the girl. “It’s not like I wasn’t _slaving_ over building a boiler for this place! You can now have hot water whenever you need instead of boiling it in the kitchen, carrying off, and hoping it’ll stay hot.”

“While I _loved_ having a hot bath this morning, ‘ _Oh Lord of Hot Water_ ’...” Beldilia teased as she reached over and poked the pouting Corven in the forehead. “...I need to pick that scientific brain of yours. There’s been some trouble that could use your problem-solving skills.”

“And what problem is that?” Corven asked while batting Beldilia’s hand away. With a bit of effort, he forced himself to sit up on his bed before giving a wide yawn. He then stretched, his body cricked and popped.

The chill of his drafty room made Corven hold his blankets around himself like a hooded robe. His next project would have to be installing a heating system now that the Abbey had a proper boiler. Corven let his mind drift. He was only half listening as Beldilia prattled on about ‘the problem’ and how news traveled to the Abbey. His eyes slowly closed as his head slumped forward as though it weighed as heavy as lead.

“And Marshal’s looking to send out--”

Bel’s words died when she caught the sound of a sudden snore. She blinked at seeing Corven had effectively nodded off. Her mouth formed a tight line before she sighed through her nose. It was what one could expect from a man whose name basically meant ‘Lethargic Corvid’.

Beldilia reached her hands out, holding them aloft on either side of Corven’s face before clapping hard against his cheeks. The man jumped with a start and a loud, surprised snort.

“Sorry for the rude awakening but I need you to focus, Core.” Beldilia insisted before she took a seat on the bed. “There’s a mine Southeast of the Abbey, it’s called ‘Jasperlode’. Some adventurers managed to kick out some freeloading kobolds only to find the place was also _infested_ with spiders. They all ran out screaming.”

“A reasonable reaction.” Corven said before yawning once more. “Spiders are sensitive to smell, things like lavender, mint, and eucalyptus should help in warding them away.”

“These spiders are as _large as dogs_.”

“Of course, because why wouldn’t they be?” Corven sighed before leaning back against the wall. “Give me some time to brainstorm, I’ll meet you in the mess hall for breakfast.”

“Alright…” Beldilia got up from the bed and strode over to the door. She looked over her shoulder and flashed a small smile. “I knew I can count on you~!”

“Don’t count your ravens before they hatch.” Corven warned her.

He waited for Beldilia to leave before he closed his eyes and tried to think. It was frustrating at times. Corven’s mind was like trying to walk through a thick fog. At times there were shadows, distant shapes, and voices from a previous life. Not that it mattered much to him. Corven had little desire to learn who he was, something in his gut warned him that he wouldn’t like the answer.

Still, sometimes prodding around in the muck of jumbled memory and knowledge was beneficial. He remembered that he was a mage but his skills were limited. His entire body was on the mend, be it due to injury or illness. His only clues were a pair of large scars. One over his heart, clearly a deep stab wound, and one that encircled his neck as though someone had decapi--

Corven closed his eyes tight and willed the gruesome thought away, it served little than make his stomach churn and his headache. Whatever his past was could stay buried, this was a fresh start and he would take it. Corven had to focus on recovery and move on. It was going to be quite some time before he would be at full strength again. It had been hit or miss when it came to casting magic (many exploded windows and target dummies could attest to that). At the moment he could use a small repertoire of simple spells that he could cast stably.

What Corven did have in his favor though, was _knowledge_. At times it took a bit of effort to recall but there was extensive knowledge of numerous subjects in his brain. Things like alchemy and tinkering were second nature to him, Corven’s hands would move with practiced finesse while working. Strange facts, like how to ward off spiders, were other things that could occasionally pop up with the right prompting. It was almost like there was an entire library in his head. A jumbled mess of scattered tomes and facts.

_‘If_ **_he_ ** _was here…he’d complain at me and then begrudgingly organize it.’_

Corven blinked and then frowned at the strange, sudden thought. Who was ‘he’? An image of a young man flickered in his mind for a brief second. It was too brief to make out their details, save for one simple feature. A thick streak of white in his hair.

Corven’s hand went to his chest as he felt an odd tightness. Was part of him getting emotional?

Corven drew in a breath, released it as a sigh, and tried to push the thought aside. He needed to focus on something or else his mind would go down paths he’d rather not. There was no point in lounging around and putting off starting the day. He climbed out of bed and went to fetch fresh clothes.

-o-o-o-

While Corven didn’t feel like he was a religious person, there was something relaxing in the ambiance of the Abbey. The occasional bell that would announce the hour, the distant tune of hymns or prayer, all provided a peaceful din. The people at the abbey were kind enough, taking in the downtrodden and helping them get on their feet. During the time he had been there, Corven had seen plenty of people come and go.

Perhaps there was a little envy there. Setting off to start off a new life, whether it be something as mundane as a tavern keeper or as exciting as a traveler seeing lands unknown. It’d be far more interesting than a quiet life as the handyman of an abbey.

Corven drew a breath in through his nose and released it as a sigh. He tried to push those thoughts aside and refocus on the problem at hand.

“Good morning, Corven. As sleepy-looking as ever I see.” spoke the voice of an older man. Its tone wisened and gentle.

Corven looked and caught sight of Brother Neals as he stepped out of one of the prayer rooms. He was a kindly man, one of the folks that found Corven lying in the dirt outside of the abbey. “Hello there, Neals.”

“I have to thank you for your work, having hot water so readily available is wonderful. It certainly helps these old aching bones.” Neals said with a smile and a nod. “Speaking of health, I hope you’re taking your own into account. No more toiling away until the crack of dawn, yes? It doesn’t help with your health.”

“Well, maybe _after_ my latest project.” Corven said with a shrug. “Honestly, I’m a little stumped.”

“Is that so? What troubles you?”

“Beldilia’s roped me into one of her endeavors.” Corven sighed. “An infestation of ‘spiders of enormous size’. Scented oils would work but the amount needed for the situation would be far too expensive.”

Brother Neals broke eye contact with Corven and looked thoughtful for a moment. He lightly tapped his cheek with a finger. “The only thing that comes to mind would be vinegar. We had an issue with bed bugs and fleas one year. Cleared them right up.”

Corven frowned in concentration as the wheels in his head began to turn. “Do we have any barrels of it in the abbey’s storeroom?”

“The most I could let you two take is two, Corven.” Neals sighed. “Three would be a little too noticeable, even if it’s for a good cause, the cooks wouldn’t appreciate it.”

“We’ll just have to manage then.” Corven said, offering a smile to the kindly old priest. “Thank you, Neals.”

-o-o-o-

Beldilia was tired of waiting for her broken magician friend. She had long since gotten breakfast and began eating without him in the mess hall. She wondered if this was a problem that finally stumped Corven. Beldilia gave a small sigh as she eyed a piece of bacon that sat on her plate. She moved to stab it with her fork but it was plucked up, leaving her fork to screech across her plate.

“Hey!” Beldilia looked up and found Corven standing next to her, chewing on her last piece of bacon. “Hell’s bells, Corven, that was mine!”

Corven swallowed and smirked before taking a seat next to Beldilia. “Consider it payback for the slap to the face.”

“It wasn’t _that_ hard, you big baby!”

“Anyway…” Corven said as he tried to refocus their conversation. “...I have an idea for that job.”

“That’s great!” Beldilia’s eyes twinkled as her face lit up at the news. “What is it? Tell me so I can--”

“First…” Corven began, holding up a finger, halting Beldilia’s words so he could continue. “...I have a couple of conditions for my help.”

Beldilia’s smiling face deteriorated into a scowl then and there. It was a little odd that Corven would bring such a thing up so suddenly. Normally he was satisfied with getting whoever was pestering him out of his hair.

“Just what would those conditions be?” Beldilia asked.

Corven’s smirk grew slightly before he snatched a piece of toast from Beldilia’s plate. “For starters, I want a cut of the reward.”

“No way.”

Corven then shrugged and moved to get up from his seat. “Well, I guess I’m just going back to bed then--”

Beldilia reached up and firmly gripped the broken mage by his sleeve, she pulled down, guiding him back into sitting down. “What do _you_ need money for?”

“I could ask you the same thing. Didn’t you mention that your parents sent you here to become a ‘woman of the light’?” Corven asked with a quirked brow before taking a bite of the toast he pilfered earlier. It was nice getting the upper hand on Bel now and then but he wasn’t about to drag it out longer than needed. “Look, I get it, you don’t want to be here forever, I don’t either. But neither of us is going to get out of here with no money. That’s the facts.”

Beldilia’s mouth formed a firm line. She broke eye contact with Corven for a moment as she mentally went over her options. “...Twenty-five percent.”

“Fifty.” Corven corrected.

“Thirty.” Bel re-corrected.

“ ** _Fifty_**.” Corven refused to budge. 

“Thirty-five.” Beldilia said just as stubbornly. “I get a finder’s fee and I’m the one going out there to do all the dirty work.”

“And that brings me to condition number two.” Corven said while holding up two fingers for emphasis. He smiled at the curious look Bel gave him before continuing. “I want to go with you.”

“What?" Bel blinked, her eyes growing wide with surprise. She replayed Corven’s words in her hear once more just to be sure she heard him right. “No way, you’ll just slow me down!”

“Trust me, this is going to be a two-person job.”

“You can barely throw a fireball.” Beldilia countered as she rolled her eyes.

It was then that Corven looked a little insulted. He gave small scoff while he crossed his arms over his chest. “I have more than enough tricks up my sleeves, thank you very much.”

“Okay, if you’re so certain…” Beldilia began, seeing an opportunity of getting free labor and knocking Corven off his high horse. “...You can come with me but your share of the reward depends on how useful you actually are.”

Corven quirked at brow at the condition. The logical part of him knew it was some sort of trick on Beldilia’s part. She was a sly one, certainly smart, there was no doubt that she’d try to turn things in her favor. But that was part of why they got along pretty well despite their teasing banter. It was like a game and for some reason or another Corven found himself itching to play. Perhaps it was more to prove something to himself rather than Bel but more importantly…

He wanted to win.

- **End of Chapter 3** -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and feedback are encouraged and really help me out, so please don't be shy. Thank you for reading! I'll see you next time!


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